Corsair (Oregon Files 6)

“So what’s going on here really?”

“The CIA thinks it’s a cover for a new subterranean nuclear-research program.”

“I thought Uncle Muammar gave up his nuke ambitions,” Max remarked. “Besides, the CIA was probably convinced my mother-in-law was pursuing a nuclear program when she had a new root cellar dug.”

Eric chuckled. “Foreign intelligence services dismiss the CIA estimate. They think this is a legit enterprise. Problem is, I can’t dig up any corporate entities charged with working there. Which isn’t all that surprising. The Libyans aren’t known for their transparency. There was one article in a trade publication that said Libya is interested in pursuing coal gasification as an alternative to oil, and claims they have a system that will be cleaner than natural gas.”

“You don’t sound convinced,” Max said.

“It took some digging, but I found records from ships that had once used the station back in the day. Building up a picture over time, it appears vessels that regularly refueled there showed a fifty percent increase in maintenance and a twenty percent reduction in efficiency.”

As an engineer, Max immediately grasped the implications of Eric’s findings. “The coal is filthy, isn’t it?”

“An archived log from the captain of a coastal freighter called Hydra says he’d rather fill his bunkers with sawdust than use the coal from the station.”

“There’s no way any current gasification technology can make it clean. So what is this place, really?”

“The facility to the north of the mine was once used by the Libyan military as a training base.”

“This whole thing is government sanctioned after all,” Max said, jumping ahead.

“Not necessarily,” Eric countered. “They stopped using it a couple of years ago.”

“Back to square zero,” Max said bitterly.

“ ’ Fraid so. In the past two days, there have been suspicious military maneuvers in Syria, so our satellite coverage has gone east to keep an eye on them. This picture here is two months old, and is the most current I could find.”

“What about getting some shots from a commercial satellite company?”

“Already tried and struck out. Even offering double their normal fees, we can’t get new shots until a week from now.”

“Too late for Juan or Fiona Katamora.”

“Yup,” Eric agreed.

“And you’ve tried everything to pierce the corporate veil of the company working on the rail line?”

“Do onions have layers? They’re better shielded than anything I’ve ever seen before. I’ve hit dead end after dead end trying to trace ownership. But the thing I learned about comp

anies working in Libya is, they are generally partnered with the government in a sort of quasi-nationalized arrangement.”

“So we come full circle, and it’s Libya’s government behind all this?”

“You’re familiar with Cosco, aren’t you?”

“It’s a Chinese shipping company.”

“Which many suspect is actually owned by the People’s Liberation Army. I’m wondering if we don’t have something similar going on here.”

“You’re saying it’s not Libya’s central government that’s involved but a segment of it?” Max asked, and Eric nodded. “The military?”

“Or the JSO, the Jamahiriya Security Organization, their principal spy agency. Ever since Qaddafi started playing nice, the JSO has been marginalized. This could be a play for them to regain some of their lost prestige.”

“One hell of a gamble, since we know these people are somehow connected to the downing of Katamora’s plane,” Max said. Stone didn’t argue, so Hanley went on. “What about terrorists paying this rogue faction to look the other way? That worked for Bin Laden in the Sudan, and then Afghanistan, until we toppled the Taliban.”

“That was my next thought.” Eric said. “We know Libya’s sheltered terrorists in the past. The mine and railroad could be a terrorist front for a training camp, with an eye toward using the proceeds to fund their activities. Al-Qaeda had done that in Africa, trafficking conflict diamonds.”

Max took a moment to light his pipe, using the familiar distraction to organize his thoughts. When it was drawing evenly and a wreath of smoke began to form a haze along the ceiling, he said, “We’re spinning our wheels. There’s no sense in you and me trying to guess who’s doing what. Juan will probably have the answer. So as I see it, our priority is to get him out of there and find out what he’s learned.”